


Indifference

by AlexNow



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Brendon does exist, Don't get confused thinking Ryan made Brendon up, Ghost!Pete, M/M, No difference there, Patrick is direct, Pete lies, Ryan has an imaginary friend/ghost friend named Brendon, Ryan is weird, Spencer and William come out for a millisecond, ghost!Brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNow/pseuds/AlexNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Pete missed life. Being alive and being able to communicate with other people. Much later, being stuck in the same house he was killed in, the Stump family moves in and Pete is shocked to know the youngest member is able to see him.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, yeah. This is my first Peterick story I've wrote. Dunno, I was used to Ryden/Rydon. I somewhat tried my best. Enjoy as much as you can.

Today is the day they move in. Pete is hiding behind a wall, peering from the corner to watch them, as if he was scared to be seen. It was stupid, really, since it’s utterly impossible. The last time he talked to the living was 50 years ago, and _that_ family didn’t think twice before packing up again and leaving. Pete had just watched from the window and the youngest boy of the family (fifteen year old Joe Trohman) had smiled regretfully and waved as they drove away.

It’s scary how fast time moves. One moment people are yelling about a bomb landing in the town and hiding under the houses, and the next there’s these little things from where people’s voices come out of. Like being at two places at the same time. Cell phones, they are called.

At the moment a couple of men were helping bring in the couches and heavy stuff while a brunette lady, probably the woman of the house, instructed where to put them. A man between his 40s and 50s with short blonde hair walks in and gives her a quick kiss before murmuring something about a meeting with his boss. He leaves and the woman sighs before yelling at one of the work men about putting the small shelve down delicately.

Pete stays standing there and he’s grateful to know no one has spotted him, or ever will. He ends up comfortably sitting cross-legged in the hallway entrance and laughs slightly as he notices how everyone who walks past him –their leg crossing straight through his body- shiver with cold. He still finds it entertaining.

Then, the family’s child arrives. Mrs. Stump, as Pete had learned she was addressed by, opens the door and starts yelling for a certain Patrick. She truly seems angry and starts demanding that ‘he gets his ass off the car seat and does something useful’ and Pete faintly hears a dramatic sigh.

Patrick Stump is short. He has a mass of blonde hair on his head that reach his ears and a baseball cap placed on his head. His hair is painfully straight and has squared black glasses perched on his nose. When he walks in, Pete by instinct jumps up to hide behind the wall and is careful with his staring. It’s not a problem, really, but even after all these years he still shudders at the thought of -possibly- _anyone_ able to see him.

Everyone in Summerlin is human, living and breathing. Pete is simply not. His life was taken away from him a long time ago and he can’t seem to leave this dumpy planet.

_Heaven? Heaven my ass, why the fuck am I still doing here? Even Hell’s better than having to see these old people slowly die._

Why does everyone get to leave once they pass away and Pete doesn’t? He was a good boy. Sort of.

“Yes?” Patrick says with a sigh, eyeing his mother calculatingly, trying to figure out whether she was just annoyed or clearly just pissed off.

“Don’t just stand there,” She snaps, “Get the boxes from the trunk and help set them up.”

Patrick sighs. “Sure.”

He turns away and begins walking towards the front door again before looking over his shoulder to roll his eyes, but his figure froze just for a millisecond as he caught eyes with a figure who could barely be seen from behind the wall that led to the hallway where the stairs to the next floor are.

The figure’s eyes widened and quickly moved back behind the wall to avoid any more eye contact with a human. Patrick, at this point, had hurriedly moved back to the car and is struggling to keep the heavy box labeled _‘BOOKS’_ from falling and smashing into his toe. It has happened before and from being distracted -and wondering if he’s gone mad- he might end up in the hospital with a purple toe again.

At 5:30 pm, when Patrick’s gone to ‘walk around and get to know the city’, Pete is sitting on the new bed in his room. The same room he was killed in. He swears he saw the boy’s eyes connect with his. Not go _through_ him like everyone else. And the way Patrick had scrambled out the door and refused to look back also said enough.

“I don’t _get_ it.” Pete mutters and he leaned to the headboard, sighing.

“What don’t you get?” A new voice spoke. Pete immediately turns and stiffens once he sees none other than Patrick Stump standing in his doorway. Wasn’t he supposed to be home in, like, three hours like he told his mother?

Pete’s eyes flicker to the old clock –one Patrick refused to throw away, for which Pete was grateful- and realize it _is_ three hours later.

 _8:45 pm_ flashes as the second hand ticks, marking with the distant noise every second that passes. It’s when Pete counts ten that he realizes that he hasn’t answered.  
But is he supposed to? He could pretend to be one of Patrick’s crazy illusions so he thinks he’s going mental and then leave. Patrick could tell _them_ and Pete would have to wait another 10 years before he gets company again, even though he never communicates with them.

“What are you doing here?” Pete replies question with question. Patrick seems startled and he ignores the fact that he could see _through_ him. Patrick, for this same reason, has always been weird. Bullied at school for being a chubby fag and reacting to things so strangely and out of ordinary.

“This is my room.” Patrick responds. Pete narrows his eyes at him and doesn’t move. He _refuses_ to have to stick around in the basement again just not to scare the poor boy and family, only able to walk around at night when everyone’s asleep.

“No it’s not. It’s _mine._ Has been for years.” Pete snaps. Patrick stares at him and blinks.

“How many?” He asks. Pete seems confused.

“Huh?”

Patrick purses his lips. “For how many years have you been here?”

Pete stares after him hopelessly as he fades away.

 

**-**

  
“Patrick! Wash the dishes, will you? I’m going out to have coffee with Mrs. Ross!” Cindy, Patrick’s mom’s, voice rang in the air.

Pete remembers the Ross family. They have this one 18 year old kid, Ryan, a year younger from Pete’s physical age. Ryan’s… odd. Pete would stand at his bedroom window (which was directly in front of Ryan Ross’ own window) and if he was lucky and Ryan had left his curtain open, he’d be able on spy him. Ryan, as far as Pete knows, is friendless. Has no one in life but his shadow. Ryan’s always solemn and emotionless and never smiles. There was only once when Pete saw him laugh.

Once Pete had sat on his window sill and stared into the neighbor’s window just because he was bored. Ryan had walked into his room, looking as glum as ever, but soon his eyes spotted his bed and his eyes lightened up. He began talking to plain air and soon he was laughing over nothing. Between laughs and gasps for air Pete made out words that suspiciously sounded like ‘Brendon’ and Pete had backed away and rolled his eyes while thinking that Ryan was a bit too old for imaginary friends.

“Yes, mom.” Patrick replies considerately. The sound of a door slamming fills the air and soon the sound of water running and banging of porcelain.

Pete slowly walks down the stairs, being careful on being quiet. Silence is the only thing he’s good at. That, and freaking the shit out of people.

Patrick is singing under his breath when Pete makes it to the kitchen. It is a quiet chant, the words barely being heard over the sound of his humming.

“You like to sing.” Pete states after recalling hearing Patrick hum occasionally for the past two weeks they have been here. Patrick jumps about a foot in the air and the plate he was holding slips through his hold, clattering onto the floor and breaking into various small, sharp pieces.

“Shit.” He mumbles and looks through the corner of his eyes to see Pete. His eyes are wary, “It’s you.”

Out of all the possible reactions Pete could have gotten, he did not expect this one. Patrick seems irk and seeming to have expected Pete anyway. He calmly steps over the glass and opens a small closet, which the Stumps have decided to use as a small storage room for cleaning supplies.

“You scared me.” Patrick mutters and starts pushing the pieces into a small pile on the floor with the broom.

“I see you like stating the obvious, Patrick.” Pete deadpans. Patrick freezes before narrowing his eyes at him.

“How do you know my name?” He asks. It is a stupid question, and _both_ know it. But Patrick seems to be stubborn and asks it anyway.

“You have lived here for quite long time now, and I’m a good listener.” Pete responds and actually grins. Patrick blinks.

“Aren’t you supposed to, like, walk to the light?” He inquires. Pete snorts and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Oh, geez, sorry. I guess I forgot to mention that if I had the option to leave _I would have left this shithole ages ago.”_ Pete hisses the last part and Patrick instantly backs away, by instinct.

“Sorry.” He replies with a sigh and continues cleaning the floor, pushing in on the dustpan.

They stay in silence for a long while and by the time Patrick _finally_ has all the sharp objects in the trashcan Pete has had _enough_ with it.

“Where are you from?”

Patrick looks startled at first but he plays along, composing himself quite quickly and he almost kicks the trashcan. It would have been the last straw.

“Uh, Illinois.” He responds while finishing the dishes. Patrick hopes his mother doesn’t notice the absence of one of her favorite plates.  
“That’s far away.”

“Yeah… it is.”

“Why’d you come here?”

Patrick shrugs. “We move from state to state every two years. To get to know the world or something like that.”

“You’re leaving in two years?”

“Probably.”

Pete hums in approval, happy to know he won’t be stuck with them for the rest of… eternity. Or until the last one dies, at least. He enjoys stalking people and making their things ‘accidentally’ fall to the ground but having the same person around (one being able to see you, by worse) gets sickening.

Pete asks about Patrick’s old life in all the other states he’s lived in and listens carefully, just because he feels like it. Pete likes it when Patrick smiles, or when he laughs. Patrick is really pretty, Pete noticed. He wishes he hadn’t.

Cindy Stump arrives with a huge grin an hour and a half later and has an apple pie in hand that Cynthia Ross gave her as a welcoming present. She says her son, Ryan, seems like a ‘decent’ young man and Patrick should hang out with him one day.

Pete bids his goodbyes with a beam and waves before fading away.

“You were saying, mother?” Patrick asks Cindy, and Mrs. Stump wonders why Patrick is smiling out of nowhere.

 

**-**

  
“I’m home!” Patrick announces after arriving to the house from his third week of school here in Nevada. Cindy’s head pops out of the kitchen and she nods briefly.

“Alright. Pat, I need you to take a shower and do your homework as always. You have to set the table for dinner,” She says, “And don’t forget to wipe your shoes on the mat. I just mopped.”

Patrick grumbles a response and nods before running upstairs with his backpack bobbing on his shoulder. He opens the door of his bedroom and kicks his shoes off, throwing his backpack full of stacks of books on the floor brutally.

“Well, aren’t we violent today?” Pete greets, his eyebrow raised. But he has a smile placed on his lips. Patrick grins and laughs lightly.

“Sorry, my mother just gets on my nerves.”

“Patrick, she’s only asking you to set the table.” Pete responds with a sigh. Patrick shrugs.

“Yes, but I have things to do.”

“Like?”

“I don’t _know._ Stuff every 18 year old teen should be doing.”

“Sleeping?”

“Having _fun._ ” Patrick snaps. Pete snorts.

“No offense but _your_ sense of entertainment is staying in your bed all day reading cheesy romance novels.”

“Shut up.”

“I only state the obvious.”

Patrick shrugs and sits on his bed next to Pete. He’s gotten used to Pete hanging around in his room, aimlessly walking around. What Patrick _refuses_ to accept is the fact that Pete gives himself the liberty of looking through his stuff. Once Patrick found him looking through his notebook where he wrote some stupid song lyrics. He had snatched it away and chucked a lamp in Pete’s direction. Of course, it went straight through him and Pete just laughed and laughed endlessly before Patrick refused to talk to him.

“How was school?”

“Alright, I guess. This guy named Spencer introduced me to Ryan, the neighbor. And I also met William Beckett, who’s pretty cool.”

Pete nods and visibly begins thinking about something before shaking his head.

“You like your school and friends?” He asks instead. Patrick smiles.

“Yeah, it could have been worse.”

“ _Could_ have? What’s wrong?” Pete seems concerned now and Patrick suppresses his smile from getting bigger.

“Ryan’s… strange.” Patrick hesitates.

Pete grimaces.  _And so I’ve been told._

“Whatcha means, exactly?” He questions instead. Patrick sighs and his arms fall to his face to cover his face from the light coming from the light bulb on the ceiling.

“He says he has another best friend. Brendon Urie. Spencer claims to not ever have met a Brendon and that he’s never even seen him. Ryan just, like, walks up smiling to us and when we ask he just says he talked to Brendon last night. Ryan says Brendon stays most nights with him and it's starting to worry Spencer.” Patrick finished with an exhausted sigh and Pete forced Patrick to stand up.

“Don’t fall asleep, ‘Trick. You still have to shower and do your homework before helping your mother set the table.” He said with a grin and Patrick groaned.

“See you, Pete.” Patrick said groggily and Pete smirked.

“Have a nice time with Cindy and your father.”


	2. Chapter 2

“My turn.” Patrick says, and Pete shakes his head frantically.

“No. It‘s mine.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You‘ve gone three times, one following the other.”

Pete shrugs and let his head fall to Patrick’s pillow, a wry smile on his lips.

“Maybe, but it‘s still my turn.”

Patrick laughs and finally nods. “Fine, but I‘ll only let you until it gets annoying.”

Pete grins and then stared at him with a considering stare, his lips pursed together and one of his eyes squinted into the air. Patrick stared at him and patiently waited.

“Green.” Pete finally said.

“Grass.” Patrick responds immediately. Pete’s grin widens.

“Red.”

“Blood.”

Pete’s eyebrow raises but he doesn’t comment. “Indifference.”

“Family.”

“Family?” Pete asks. Patrick smiles slightly.

“Confusing.”

“Love.”

Patrick hesitates, and finally he sighs and stares at the ground.

“You.” He responds. Pete blinks onece, twice until a slow smile spreads across his face and reaches his hand to curl around Patrick’s, his hand feeling cold but solid.

“I wish, ‘Trick,” He says and he sits up to pull Patrick’s head into his neck, his own face pressing into Patrick’s blonde hair, “I‘ve never wanted anything more.”

When Patrick pulls his head up to stare into Pete’s clear eyes with a smile full of despair, he sees Ryan staring at his with curiosity in his eyes. When they connect eyes, Ryan smiles, waves, and pulls his curtain to close.

**-**

 

“Elisa asked me out.” Patrick finally says, trying to break the silence. Pete frowns and turns around to face him, face impassive.

“Cool.”

“She‘s really pretty.” Patrick continues. Pete slowly sits on the twin-sized bed.

“I bet.”

“And smart.”

Pete resists a sigh and turns his back to Patrick as he lays down. _“Perfect.”_

Patrick’s lips twitch and Pete feels a warm hand position over his own cold one. The hand squeezes and Pete tries not to smile at how well it feels.

“Pete.”

“What.”

Patrick feels like grinning at Pete’s harsh tone, but instead rolls his eyes as long as Pete can’t see it.

 _“Pete.”_ He tries again.

“What do you _want?!”_ Pete snaps and turns to face Patrick with a glare. Patrick laughs lightly and shakes his head. Pete feels like wiping that _stupid_ smile off his face. Traitor.

“I said no.”

Pete opens his mouth to scream before his angry face fades to a confused one, his mouth closing once again. “Huh?”

“I told her _no._ ”

Pete stares at him as if he were crazy. Pete’s seen Elisa from the times she and Patrick would walk to Patrick’s house and she’d give him a radiant smile and walk off to the end of the street where her own house is. Elisa _isn’t ugly._ Pete’s… Pete. Not bad looking at all, just… Pete.

_“Why?!”_

Patrick smiles and suddenly he looks a bit shy, staring at the ground with his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “I-I don‘t like her.”

“You don‘t?”

Pete remembers watching them from the window walking and Patrick seeming extremely timid, his cheeks tingeing pink. Kind of like right now.

“No.”

“I feel a shit-load of confusion.”

Patrick tries to hide his smile by looking away. “I like someone else.”

A grin slowly spreads across Pete’s lips and he uses a finger to guide Patrick’s chin to face him. Patrick lets him follow the movement but his eyes stay glued to the floor.

“Patrick, look at me.” Pete says. A simple puff of air escapes the blonde’s lips.

“For fucking God‘s Sake," He says softly, "Can‘t you just accept the fact that you have no reason to act shy when you already know I‘ve been head over heels in love with you since the moment you talked to me?” Yeah, okay. Not what Pete meant to say but it works. It totally works. Especially when Patrick freezes and his eyes finally meet Pete’s complete out of shock.

“Shit.” Pete curses anyway. Patrick laughs and seeing his eyes twinkle like that Pete just _knows_ he did the right thing. All truth, no lies. Who says there’s only horrible truth and beautiful lies?

Pete doesn’t think, just acts.

He leans over and presses his stony cold lips to Patrick’s. Patrick isn’t shocked, but instead smiles against his lips and kisses back, no regrets. It was like an unspoken agreement. They knew this day was coming up. They knew they were in love. Patrick wonders how he could have ever doubted of Pete.

“I love you too.” He whispers.

 

**-**

  
Patrick truly lives in a fucked up reality. In love with a ghost? Really? Pathetic. There’s no other way to see it.

But funny thing is, he’s not ashamed. Not one bit. How can Patrick feel ashamed of when he lays on his bed, his head resting on Pete’s chest with a smile and Pete rambling about anything and everything. His finger curls around Patrick’s hair and Patrick just leans up to place a kiss over Pete’s lips, since it’s obviously the only way to get Pete to _shut the fuck up._ Patrick doesn’t mind though. The only hard part is getting Pete to let him pull away to get air. Pete just bites on his bottom lip and _refuses_ to let him go.

Patrick rolls his eyes.

 

**-**

  
Sadly, a fairytale like Patrick’s can’t possibly end with a happy ending. It’s not possible. The typical forbidden love. A human and a unloving being walking throughout the world. Pete knew it the whole time apparently, but he didn’t tell Patrick. He didn’t want to break Patrick’s heart. He just _couldn’t._ Patrick’s smile is impossible to want to make disappear.

So Patrick didn’t take it well when Pete started fading away. Hell, he had angry tears running down his face and was throwing books, lamps and pillows through Pete’s body and Pete didn't want them to go right through them, he  _didn't._ But wanted to feel the pain, feel real, but apparently he wasn't given even that.

“You fucking _liar!”_ He yelled, “You fucking _liar! Cheater.”_

Pete had his own transparent tears running down his face as he shook his head rapidly, refusing to believe those words.

“N-No,” He choked out, “I‘m not. I _swear_ I‘m not!”

Patrick laughed bitterly.

“You _knew_ and you just let me keep going. You didn‘t tell me at all _._ Of course you are. Fuck you. I can't believe I was stupid enough to fall in love with someone like you.”

A last teardrop of Pete fell to the wood floor as he faded away forever. He didn't expect to see Patrick again, he _knows_ he'll never see him again. Patrick stared in front of him angrily and falls to the floor, more tears escaping him. He stared through blurry eyes at Pete's teardrops on the wood boards, the only evidence that Pete ever was here, and snaps his arm to slam his hand on them and make them disappear too.

 

-

 

The next day Patrick arrived at school with a permanent scowl on his face, glaring at everyone who’s eyes lingered on his figure. Even his friends had backed off, deciding it was one of Patrick’s annual shitty days. No one thought they were permanent. How could dear dreamy ever-smiling Patrick ever turn heart-rotten and sadistic?

While Patrick walked through the halls, shoving everyone out of his way without a word, Ryan walked towards him, giving him a sad smile and a stare full of sorrow.

“If it helps you and makes you feel any better,” Ryan whispers, “Brendon left a couple of days ago.”

Patrick scoffs and pushes him out of his way before leaving him behind.

Everyone knew, and no one told him.

Is there _anyone_ you could trust these days?


End file.
